Throne of Glass

Throne of Glass sells a deadly contest, then makes its captive heroine more interesting than the contest itself.

Sarah J. Maas begins with a bargain ugly enough to survive all the castle's glitter. A teenage assassin gets a path out of captivity by serving the court that wants to use her. Win, and she might eventually be free. First she has to be useful. I kept returning to that trap whenever the tournament tried to claim centre stage. The sharpest blade in the book is a contract.

Celaena Sardothien wants to be seen as formidable. She also wants ordinary pleasures, friends and some say over her own life. Those wants make her more convincing to me than the repeated insistence that she is exceptional. She can be vain, funny and spectacularly impatient. Sometimes she enters a room as if it has neglected to applaud on cue. That felt recognisably teenage; the legend takes longer to convince me.

The premise (no spoilers past the contest's first deaths)

First published in 2012, Throne of Glass opens Maas's series of the same name. In a land without magic, Celaena is taken from prison to compete for the role of the King's Champion against 23 other killers and fighters. Win, serve the king, and she is promised eventual freedom. Crown Prince Dorian Havilliard helps bring her to court. Chaol Westfall, Captain of the Guard, is assigned to protect her. A princess from another country offers friendship. The castle has found a place for Celaena in every scheme except her own.

Then competitors begin dying. The official contest is no longer the only danger Celaena must survive. That is where I will leave the mystery. Its answer matters less to this judgment than the question under the entire arrangement: what sort of freedom can a king promise someone he intends to own first?

What works

The bargain gives every apparent gain a barb. Celaena wants out of prison, but the route runs through service to a ruler she despises. Court comfort can make that arrangement look less ugly for a moment. Maas is good when she lets a pleasant room and an unpleasant obligation exist together. A softer bed is still inside someone else's terms. The furniture is having a better time than the heroine.

Celaena's pride is useful because it rubs against her lack of control. She wants to prove herself, while other people decide the conditions of the proof. For a YA heroine pulled out of captivity, refusing modesty can be a way to keep hold of a name. I do not want her meek. I want her bravado to cost something when it meets the court's power, and the book is strongest when it lets that happen.

The pacing snaps into focus when the contest and the danger beyond its rules press on the same decision. Celaena has something clear to win, and victory could make her more useful to a cruel power. Even a pleasant court conversation has that condition tucked beneath it. The book can be brisk and uneasy at once. I wish it trusted that tension more often instead of adding another flourish around it.

The friendships give Celaena choices beyond winning. The foreign princess offers trust in a place that treats it as a scarce resource. Dorian and Chaol stand close to authority in different ways, so kindness from either cannot arrive without questions attached. I liked watching Celaena decide what to accept and what to doubt. A castle full of powerful people is a poor place to mistake politeness for safety.

What's polarising

The book advertises Celaena's reputation so insistently that it can drown out the girl on the page. I am more interested in the young entrant learning the room than in being told she has already conquered every room worth entering. Her vanity and impatience make her vivid. They only become a problem when the prose asks me to treat every boast as proof. Let her earn the legend in front of me; I have brought my own applause.

The tournament, palace intrigue and deaths compete for attention. Sometimes the contest's progress feels oddly faint for a book sold on a deadly competition. At other moments I wanted Maas to abandon the contest and sit with the bargain's politics. Each line has energy, but they do not always sharpen one another. The book keeps three knives in the air and occasionally forgets which one we were watching.

The prose is brisk when someone must act, then emphatic when a feeling needs naming. Maas can underline an emotion after a choice has already made it clear. I prefer the choice. Readers who like spare fantasy may find this ornate, and readers who enjoy a heroine affronted by the very existence of a room may forgive it. I did, until the underlining began to look like a second book beneath the first.

The Chaol of it

Chaol Westfall interests me as the Captain of the Guard told to protect a prisoner whom his king intends to use. His duty contains a contradiction before he says a word. He can be conscientious and still carry out an arrangement that denies Celaena real freedom. The uniform is doing excellent work for his conscience, perhaps more than it should. I like him most when the story allows that discomfort to show.

I wanted the contradiction pressed harder. Silence can look principled when someone wears a uniform, but it does not alter the terms of Celaena's captivity. Chaol's loyalty to the institution is a choice that affects her. He cannot repair that by being decent within it. Their uneasy trust has more to work with when the book remembers the difference between guarding a person and guarding the system around her.

Spice and heat

Heat: 0 of 5. This is YA, with teenage leads including Celaena, who is eighteen, and the teen prince Dorian. There is no spice in this first book. The emotional territory is longing, loyalty and trust. Content note: imprisonment, a deadly contest and killings inside the castle. I would pay more attention to those dangers than to the restrained romantic thread when choosing it for a younger reader. The court's promises are the least reassuring thing in the room.

Who it's for

Read Throne of Glass if you like a proud young heroine, a dangerous court and a bargain whose catch is visible from the corridor. Give this first instalment room to find its footing. The tournament and mystery sometimes tug in different directions, but Celaena's fight to keep a say over her own life gives both a reason to matter.

If you expect the adult heat of Maas's Crescent City books, adjust your expectations. If you want YA fantasy where pride, friendship and survival make a young person's choices difficult, this is a lively opening. I would take its rough edges over a smoother heroine who never has to question the bargain.

Books like Throne of Glass

• Graceling by Kristin Cashore, for a gifted young woman questioning who gets to use her abilities.
• Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo, for a YA ensemble whose loyalty is tested by a perilous undertaking.
• A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik, for a sharp young narrator surviving an institution with danger built into its walls.

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